


An Undisputed Compromise (Or Why The Shield Broke Up)

by treble_tone_stark



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Ambreigns Centric, Angst, Falling In Love, First Love, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, POV Third Person Omniscient, Self Confidence Issues, Unrequited Love, ambreigns - Freeform, mainly Dean's POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 22:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8507764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treble_tone_stark/pseuds/treble_tone_stark
Summary: Dean Ambrose is absolutely, pitifully, in love with Roman - he didn't ask to be. There are certain problems with that. One, Roman has a wife.Two, Roman has a kid.Three, Dean believes he wouldn't have been worthy of Roman, even if he didn't have the latter two.And to add to all the real-life drama outside of the ring, Roman's oblivious as all hell and Seth... well, he really, really likes Dean. Story begins in their FCW days and will go into their era as The Shield and beyond - only this time with more personal details we never got to grasp on TV.





	

_There was a certain group of people who decided to stick them together— the same group of people who decided on all their scripts and storylines and new champs._

_Frankly, they didn't give a fuck who that group consisted of._

_They had put them together, and they had gone on to be one of the greatest tag teams in the history of WWE._

_They just never expected that they'd be stuck with each other even after they broke up._

 

...

...

...

 

The first time the three of them fought was in FCW; Seth and Dean had fought more than a few times before, and were well established as a pair that had undeniable chemistry in the ring - they'd be tossing each other around and tugging on each other's hair in some intricate dance that was borderline intimate.

 

No, not borderline. Anything was intimate when both ends of the battle were in trunks that did little to hide anything and were groping each other to try and pin the latter's shoulders down.

 

Of course, it was simply part of the job and nobody ever thought about it like that.

 

But even if they were numbed to the act of having more skin contact with another man than would be acceptable in basically any other (non-sexual) situation, that didn't mean that they weren't _attracted_ to whoever it was they happened to be sparring with.

 

Dean had been in several, less professionally family-friendly organizations in the past... CZW just to name one. Summary of the whole deal was a lot of blood, and a lot of pain tolerance, which- thankfully- he had plenty of both.

 

Those experiences, when he wasn't even using the name Dean Ambrose yet, didn't involve a lot of attraction to most of his sparring partners. For one, most of them were ragged-looking suckers who were just doing it for the money, and others just had the appearance that they enjoyed the pain (inflicting it even more) just a little too much.

 

Dean did it for the money, yeah, but also because the rest of his life beforehand had already been a shit storm that was all blood and pain anyway, so he thought the occupation a good fit for the orphaned, soul-searching misfit that he truly believed himself to be.

 

When he got scouted to move up the line to FCW, it had been both a stroke of luck and a curse. Obviously, the lunatic fringe didn't know about the curse part of it then, but he had to admit he was a little glad he wouldn't have to be sewing on his own nipple again... any time soon at least, if everything went as planned.

 

The name change was warranted for the new chapter of his developmental career— but it was mostly because the division leaders had asked him to change it, as not to associate him too much with the... well, more controversial division he used to call home.

 

Dean didn't mind much at all, the new name had a nice ring to it, and he responded well when called and whatnot. But speaking of changed ring names— Ambrose had most certainly not counted on becoming so interested in one Leakee.

 

Leakee, now more commonly known as Roman Reigns, didn't exactly have a pronounced "persona" other than an (understandably) confident Samoan powerhouse that always wore a cocky smile when he emerged from backstage. Dean remembered distinctly... totally _not_ staring a tad too long at that perfectly bronze chest in all it's shining glory (due to the water dripping from those long locks of hair) the first time he watched Leakee debut. That was before they had properly met.

 

It would be a while till they had a proper conversation, months maybe, since they never actually had matches against one another. Dean would always spot Roman around the training center of course, but he never had it in him to go talk to him.

 

That would just be weird.

 

Dean was never good at small talk.

 

And not only this, but he felt... uneasy when he looked at Roman from afar; the big dog just looked so... grounded, and comfortable in his skin even outside of the ring. Just standing there during break times in practice— just standing there in sweats and a slightly baggy gray hoodie.

 

Dean always wondered why Roman covered up so much.

 

Not that he was a pervert or anything, he just, well, wondered why Roman didn't feel obligated to wear tank tops to show off the arms he was always flexing in the ring, even when the weather outside was too warm to be wearing the sweats he always did.

 

Dean had assumed Roman was probably just as much of an arrogant dick he acted like, too, even though most wrestlers actual personalities clashed severely with their real life behavior.

 

Maybe that was because otherwise, Roman would just make Dean look like even more of a mess than he knew he was.

 

But...

 

… _fuck_ , Roman was _so_ different than how he acted in the ring.

 

The dirty blond knew this because of the way Roman always rubbed his sparring partner on the shoulder after practice sessions, gave them a nod and a smile after a good move was worked out, or the way he always apologized as soon as anything happened to go wrong, even if it wasn't his fault. Roman Leakee'd think about every other person in the room before himself, even if it was just the random jobber who happened to be standing next to the apron when he accidentally threw his sparring partner too hard in their direction.

 

Okay— so that would be romanticizing it a bit— nevertheless, Roman would do all those things but with much more subtly: a single pat on the shoulder, maybe, a slight head flick and a tiny smirk at nice moves, and hoisting the sparring partner back up to his feet before asking a quick 'Sorry, you ready?' and then tossing them over his shoulder again. Okay.

 

And the way Roman spoke almost robotically when being interviewed— people overlooked it due to the way Roman's deep, bass of a voice sounded smooth no matter what— Dean found it endearing. He could tell Roman genuinely felt awkward saying whatever arrogantly cocky lines were flowing out of his wide mouth, and saw how Roman always slumped a little as soon as he knew the cameras were off of him.

 

Roman was a humble guy, in a big man's body, stuck with a complacent attitude.

 

And if Dean had had it bad then, he had it so much worse when the time finally came that he, Roman, and Seth were posed to have a triple threat match for number one contender spot for the FCW championship.

 

...

 

"Yo, Dean, right?"

 

Dean dropped his bag onto the ground beside the ring a little too hard, before turning stupidly.

 

"...Yeah. Leakee, right?" The name sounded odd coming from his gruff voice, though he was pretty sure he said it correctly.

 

Roman hummed in confirmation, pressing down his hair absently-which, at the time, was pulled into a pristine bun.

 

"My real name's Leati. I dunno if you care," Roman murmured, politely, as he set his own gym bag on the ring's edge. Dean's throat went slightly dry, not used to people around here actually throwing around their birth names and whatnot— because in their career it didn't quite matter.

 

He didn't know why, but actually saying his name was harder than cleaning the blood out of his hair after his old CZW matches.

 

Given the difficulty, Dean probably wouldn't have uttered it if it weren't for Roman outstretching the mass of a hand he possessed toward him.

 

"...Jon." Dean shook it firmly; he didn't say his last name because it really didn't fit him— plus the latter hadn't mentioned a last name either. Roman never really liked to bring up his family name of his own accord, since, in the past it had either gotten him looks of admiration or looks of utter disdain— as if he was only here because of his family ties. Mentioning it always just got him more criticism.

 

"— But you should probably call me Dean." The ginger-blond hoped he didn't sound rude, speaking sharply like that.

 

Roman cracked a minuscule smile, squeezing Dean's hand back with just as much fervor before letting it go.

 

"Sure, man."

 

They never uttered their first names in front of each other again, anyway; though it never bothered their minds.

 

Seth came in just a few minutes later, grouching about having gotten stuck in traffic and something else obscene. Roman was leaning his lower back against the apron, and Dean was toying with the wrappings on his hands.

 

"Hey, sorry I'm late. Bastards kept cutting me off."

 

"You always say that. That's why you should leave your place earlier." Roman suggested, though his tone expressed that he had already suggested it many times before. Seth scratched his head, messing up his loosely tied up hair and leaving several (more) strands out of place.

 

"Yeah, yeah. You two ready to hash this out or what?"

 

Dean had been watching the interaction with a blank face, though his head was reeling at how casually the two had greeted one another. They'd fought before, he recalled now, and if he wasn't mistaken they'd even carpooled once.

 

They weren't best friends or anything, but it did make Dean realize just how much he'd secluded himself from all the other guys; everyone apart from him seemed to chat and hang out. He knew that. He was always like that, ever since High school.

 

He just hadn't really cared till that moment when Roman rolled his eyes and flicked at Seth's messy man bun, telling him to fix it or take it out, since the wild frizz it currently had was making the Samoan OCD. Seth pulled it out in a short, deft movement, putting the hair tie around his wrist, the article resting over his tattoo there.

 

Roman, too, was tugging his longer hair out of its own confines, shaking his head to let the waves flow over his shoulders.

 

"-Dean. Dean?"

 

Ambrose blinked slowly, glancing up at the half-bleached blond who was now standing right in front of him, bare chest already stripped of its band tee.

 

"Zoning out already? I thought the crazy gimmick was just an act." Seth teased, though he had a voice that made it hard to tell if he was really being mean or not.

 

"Shut up," Dean snorted, rolling out his shoulders and gripping both hands on the hem of his tank top and peeling it off.

 

He purposely turned his back to both men, rubbing a slight kink in his neck while he was at it, so that he wouldn't end up staring at Roman undressing— it wasn't as though he never saw him wearing next to nothing every time he watched Leakee wrestle from backstage, but the act of seeing a person undress was _different_. Sure, in PE you'd see people undressing in every direction, but nobody was remotely close to looking like _that_. Maybe he was acting like some awkward teenager by taking the safe route of not looking at all; the important thing was nobody noticed.

 

(And while Dean was having inner turmoil, he failed to notice someone looking at _him_ undressing. Hint: the culprit had bleached hair.)

 

Within a short time, all three of them were in the practice ring, hands on their hips and/or feet tapping on the springy surface.

 

Dean noticed something funny.

 

"Why are you wearing those?"

 

He blurted the words faster than he could bite off his damn tongue, but the sight of a shirtless Roman with only sweat pants on was one for questioning.

 

And not the question: Why do you look so hot like that? But more like, why are you wearing sweat pants in a practice spar? It wasn't exactly aerodynamic.

 

The larger male pulled the adjustment strings of said pants nonchalantly, tightening them a tad.

 

"Apparently I'm more of a dumbass than Seth today, since I forgot my trunks at the hotel. I could've sworn they were in my bag." Roman spoke straight-up, self-demeaning in the least concerned tone that could've been paired with those words. Clearly the predicament didn't worry Roman much, and Dean heard him mumble something about it being a miracle today was a day off.

 

He also heard Seth cackling from where he stood between them, forming a staggered triangle.

 

"I'd offer you my spare trunks but-"

 

"Thanks Seth, but I'm pretty sure I'm too big for your breaches." Roman interrupted, a low chuckle coming from him. Seth deflated but went back to stretching, as if to ignore it completely.

 

Dean wasn't about to offer the same thing, not that he was the type to carry spare trunks anyway, but Roman sent him a curious glance as if expecting him to say something.

 

'I sure as hell ain't your size either, big man.' Dean thought, just shrugging his shoulders and rolling his neck.

 

"I wouldn't think so." Roman answered.

 

Alright, so, Dean had said that out loud. Fuck.

 

Touching the ground between his shoulder-width spread legs in a stretch, Seth flicked his eyes over at Dean through the dark part of his hair.

 

Seth inwardly agreed Dean was most definitely not Roman's size with a waist that slender.

 

And Seth would know, he had his hands around that waist more often then not... whenever he did like a belly to belly or was trying to suplex him, and all.

 

The three of them went on to converse about the freedoms the organization had given them with this match; the only rules- really - was to keep the action flowing, keep it under 15 minutes, and make sure Roman ultimately won. No hard feelings, that was just the way the dice was rolling right now. Dean and Seth had already developed somewhat of an in-ring rivalry, too.

 

"We gotta keep this match pretty even. We trade off fighting one-on-one, throw in some pieces where we all just go at it, and be sure to keep the crowd interested, yeah?" Roman rambled, though everything he breathed out sounded like he had thoroughly planned it in his head.

 

"Yeah."

 

"Easier said than done." Seth snipped, looking at Dean, he continued.

 

"-Why don't you start off taunting the announce table, since you're always trashing the commentators anyway and the current champ oughta be there."

 

Dean vaguely shrugged, figuring he might've ended up doing that anyway.

 

Seth opened his mouth to say something else, but Roman had thought he was finished:

 

"I could pull you down from the ropes, assuming you're on the ropes. It ain't like both of us are gonna just wait for you, it's a triple threat."

 

Seth butted in, trying not to sound slightly offended.

 

"-You saying I would wait for him?"

 

"No, I was just offering. If you wanna get things rolling yourself I don't mind." And Roman didn't put an ounce of venom into his speech, either not registering or ignoring the tiny hiss in Seth's voice.

 

Seth seemed to notice that, too, and he stopped his pursuit in favor of turning back to Dean, as not to seem like a total asshole.

 

"Okay, so, Roman drops your ass on the mat. We all face off. Then you and I could team up for a second to get Roman out of the ring to start our spar."

 

"Yes, boss." Dean slurred, making a face at Seth as he breathed a chuckle. The half brunette frowned.

 

"Well do you have any better ideas?"

 

Seth tilted his head sassily, brows raising.

 

"Nah, whatever, that sounds good. But you do know Ro's supposed to win, huh?"

 

" _Yes_ , I got the memo. It's just so we don't have to fumble over trying to fight all at once. Roman can come back in after just a min—"

 

"– S'okay if I call you that?" Dean spoke at the same time as Seth, quirking an eyebrow at Roman after realizing he'd just thrown that nickname right at him.

 

Roman blinked, awkwardly holding his hands in his sweats pockets. He just nodded and gave a half smile then flickered his eyes at Seth- who now had stopped his explanation in favor for staring hard at Dean.

 

"Go on." Dean assured, feeling the heat of Seth's eyes but doing well not to show it.

 

"... Or, after _Ro_ drops you on your ass, I can throw you out of the ring and him and I could spar first. That game with you?" Seth addressed the third man with this last sentence.

 

Roman put up both hands and made his mouth into a straight line.

 

"That's game with me." The biggest of them replied, very non-combative.

 

"Kay. Let's try this out then."

 

Dean didn't say anymore, figuring he'd probably offended Seth much more than he should've this early in the day, though it wasn't like Seth scared him much. Or at all. Seth was fit and he had a lot of moves, but Dean was still sure his life experiences out weighed Seth's mere in-ring skills if they were to ever actually fight.

 

Ambrose strutted his way to a corner of the ring, climbing on and balancing his feet on the middle ropes. There wasn't actually an announce table in that direction, obviously, so Dean cheekily looked over his shoulder and half mouthed, half whispered 'taunt, taunt, taunt' over and over again.

 

Seth rolled his eyes, but inwardly he was just trying not to stare at Dean's ass with the way it was jutting out due to his feet being on the second ropes and one hand holding himself steady on the top rope.

 

Roman got right to business and came up near Dean sooner than the honey-ginger expected, and placed his hand firmly on said man's shoulder.

 

The two of them made solid eye contact just before Roman pulled back and down, effectively shifting Dean's weight and throwing him down to the middle of the ring.

 

Seth moved in next and hoisted Dean to his feet, before he mouthed 'right hand' and swung his hand toward Dean's face- to which Dean recoiled back and stumbled. They were in perfect sync, and Seth pushed Dean to the side, making it clear that he meant for the lunatic to slide under the ropes and out of the ring.

 

Dean rolled out and stood on his feet outside, since he found it unnecessary to pretend he was in actual pain at the moment. This was just practice.

 

"Deep arm drag," Roman murmured, and Seth jumped toward Roman without hesitation, their arms hooking to fling Seth over Roman's shoulder. The mat bounced, and Seth didn't stay down for more than a second before he was changing their positions and using a leg hooked over Roman's neck to press him down to the mat in a counter.

 

Seth purposely lifted his leg a little as to let Roman get out of it; the Samoan sprang into his feet.

 

"Nice counter," The taller male commented, regaining his breath while Seth smirked in satisfaction.

 

The both of them took a couple glances at two parallel sides of the ring, agreeing on something.

 

"I'll go over first, then you, then gimme your best shot."

 

"If you can handle it," Roman joked, and they both made a move. Seth ran to the side and used the momentum of the ropes to power toward the latter, to which, Roman flattened himself on the mat to let Seth hurdle over him.

 

When Seth came back at him again Roman - impressively - jumped over Seth's full height, spreading his legs to clear it. He landed loudly and turned just in time to shoulder tackle the smaller wrestler.

 

Seth slammed down onto his back and scooted a little more toward the corner, looking at Dean.

 

"You can come back in any time now, Dean-" Seth called, and Roman casually walked toward Seth, looking at the man waiting outside the ring too.

 

Dean shot back under the bottom rope into the ring and approached the two, making a fist and cupping his other hand over it.

 

"Need me to save you now, Sethie?" Dean snarled jokingly, and Roman couldn't help smirking at the kiddish nickname.

 

"Shut up and get on with it." Seth felt his heart speed up at the way Dean feigned affection in his tone; but his face twisted into a scowl and he flipped his hair out of his face. The scowl was half genuine - knowing Dean was just being an ass - and half to hide the fact he was incredibly bothered by Ambrose's (unconsciously) dedicated attention on Leakee.

 

"I'm comin' at ya then," Dean announced, and swung his 'hand-made' hammer at Roman's back; his cupped fist collided right at the line of the slightly larger male's shoulders to which Roman reacted dramatically— his long hair whipping back and stinging Dean the tiniest bit.

 

With Roman temporarily stunned Seth got back to his feet and the three of them again faced off.

 

The following practice moves went rather smoothly, with a few hiccups and readjustments for who would go for who, who'd roll out of the ring when, and when they'd team up against one wrestler to add depth to the match.

 

Temporary alliances happened in most triple threats, typically to get rid of the biggest threat; today was no different.

 

Seth grabbed onto Dean's hand, and Dean cocked a brow at him.

 

Seth looked forward at Roman, who had figured out what they were gonna do before the lunatic fringe; though, when Seth tugged Dean forward and stepped toward their opponent it clicked.

 

Their intertwined hands formed a long bridge, a bridge which collided with Roman's collar bone and pushed him back and over the top rope. Skillfully gripping onto said rope to steady his body as he flipped over, Roman ended up falling down onto his back on the mats just outside.

 

"You good?" Seth checked.

 

"Yessir."

 

Nodding determinedly, Seth wretched his hand away from Dean's, as if he weren't the one who had grabbed onto it first and held on so tightly.

 

The two left standing grappled and wrestled their hearts out for the time being, and for a moment they forgot that there was another - very large - person of interest in this mix. Dean noticed the dark mass in the corner of his eyes and sooner felt the hand pushing the two apart.

 

They all decided on a move where Seth and Dean would try and flip Roman by gripping onto each of the big dog's arms, to which, they also decided Roman would deflect and end up flipping the pair of them over instead.

 

To start off, they hooked their elbows together- like a long chain - and all of them stomped in unison to emphasize the effort across the board.

 

Roman "blocked" the move by refusing to move, and proceeded to thrust his body forward to propel the two of them away; Seth skillfully flipped himself to sell the move, and added an extra roll for dramatic effect. Dean, apparently, was not having the best day— not that he usually sold moves as well as 'The Man'— and ended up tripping himself up as he was thrown forward. He landed harder than intended, and he wasn't hurt (that would have been embarrassing as all hell) but it had looked painful enough that Roman was checking on him by taking a knee and holding out a hand.

 

Why? In the real match they wouldn't be able to check on each other, no matter how bad anything looked; but maybe that was Roman was always hyper-sensitive during practice.

 

... Dean's head reeled as he ogled, dumbfounded, at the hand before him and he inwardly cursed himself for being such a klutz. He _knew_ Roman would do something like this, too, from what he'd seen in the past while glancing at his practice sessions; but it was different when it was someone else and not him getting the special treatment.

 

"Geez, you okay?"

 

"Yeah, fine."

 

Dean shook his head to indicate he didn't need the hand to get up, and when the darker-skinned man stood up to his full height he'd assumed that was that. Only, that _wasn't_ that, and as Ambrose was pushing himself up by one hand, Roman took his opposite arm and pulled him the rest of the way up without so much as a wince of effort.

 

Though he had insisted he didn't need assistance— and he really didn't— Dean had inwardly noted that he enjoyed the feeling of being helped up as opposed to pushed down (whether that be in the ring or in scuffles outside of it). To anyone a tiny thing like that wouldn't even be remembered after a few minutes passed... but as everyone knows, Dean wasn't exactly the average cut of the crop.

 

It wasn't that Dean believed the entire world was full of shitty people - just most of it. Usually if he landed harshly or if something really did get botched the person he was wrestling _would_ try to help him up, just like Roman did. And just like Dean did, he would always shrug them off.

 

But Roman was the only one who insisted, and he didn't even realize how important that was.

 

Ro gave him a firm clap on the shoulder before stepping off and saying something to Seth about what they should do next.

 

They would continue their training for another hour or so, Dean noting the pang of pain in his ankle when he put too much weight on it but didn't say anything nor showed the discomfort.

 

Later that evening Dean found out he had actually sprained his ankle, but it wouldn't keep him from competing within the next two days; he had more things on his mind.

 

...

 

Their match happened as scheduled, Roman - or rather - Leakee, won by pin-fall and was planned to face the current champ. He was booked to lose, this time, but Roman seemed confident it wasn't his last chance.

 

And of course it wasn't.

 

The match had been exhilarating and had went as smoothly as a choreographed set could go, but when it was all said and done Dean had a sour taste in his mouth. He figured, after this, he probably wouldn't be in the ring with Roman for a good while. Seth, he still had the chance to milk their on-going rivalry, but Roman was just going to be far away again— the guy he saw in the training center.

 

Only he was absolutely fucking wrong. At the time and in the long run.

 

He blamed the company, mostly. But Roman, too...

 

"Dean,"

 

It was a couple days following the triple-threat match, and Dean had jumped in his own skin when the deep voice hit his ears.

 

"...sup?" He glanced at the bag on Roman's shoulder, seeing he was packed up to leave.

 

"You feel up to joining us to the bar?"

 

From where he'd been pulling the back of his comfortable shoes over his ankles, Dean took a look behind Roman and saw a few of the other wrestlers standing behind him or just now walking up after saying goodbyes.

 

"If you're worried about the hangover, don't be. We don't plan on having too many drinks, and we'll be sure to even it out with some food."

 

Now Roman just sounded like a designated driver. Dean wondered if the other had even gotten drunk in his life — he would've wanted to see that.

 

"I'm not worried about hangovers, man. I've had enough drinks in my lifetime that a whole night of em probably wouldn't even give me a buzz."

 

The larger man perked up his eyebrows, giving him a look of casual apathy. It wasn't pity or disappointment; it was just a look that he believed everything Dean was saying. Whether that was good or bad was up for debate.

 

"Well, all the more reason then. You can show these guys how to take a few down."

 

One of them, and nowadays Dean didn't even remember who, protested with a 'You hardly ever drink, Ro. What would you know?'

 

"Just cause I don't try to drown myself in boos doesn't mean I'm a lightweight. I just don't like drinking very often,"

 

He briefly addressed the others over his shoulder but was turned back to Dean in a moment. Dean noticed Roman was one of those people that insisted on eye contact when he spoke to people. Maybe it was the wrestling reflexes.

 

"It'd be better than drinking by yourself, Dean."

 

He couldn't argue that drinking with friends was better than isolation. And this was the first - and possibly last - time any one would have cared to make an offer.

 

But he hesitated.

 

Seth came up from beside them, his hands tugging at his hair to get it into at least a part of a bun; his workout bag was swinging at his hip while he walked.

 

"You going out, Roman?"

 

"Yeah, I was about to ask you too."

 

"It wouldn't be much fun without me don't you think?" Seth hollered, loud enough for the people around to hear but only directed at Roman; he blissfully ignored the actual bar attendees.

 

"If by fun you mean watching you get angry drunk and try to start bar fights then yes, it'd be nothing without you." Roman huffed, amused.

 

Seth crossed his arms arrogantly, giving Dean a once over since he'd never went anywhere with a party. A thought struck in his mind just then, and he stared back at 'Leakee' again.

 

"I thought you had plans today..? Weren't they coming to visit for a weekend?"

 

Who 'they' was, Dean didn't know.

 

"Galina had to cancel for work, so they'll come by next weekend."

 

Roman's face dropped slightly, though his droopy eyes gave little indication of the array of emotions he felt. Dean furrowed his brows and tried his hardest to figure the context.

 

And a sickened feeling stirred in his belly, since he's sure he knew right away, but didn't solidify the thought until...

 

"I got to Skype call them yesterday though, and JoJo's already getting bigger ..."

 

Roman had started trailing off at his own thoughts, a smile stretching across his handsome face while he rambled for a moment; Seth took in his stories with a politely interested expression; and Dean, he'd figured it out.

 

Of course someone like Roman would have a wife.

 

And a kid, too.

 

Dean's chest swelled — happy for the man that he had all the love in his life he well deserved — and broken at the fact he hadn't even thought of the possibility until now. Foolish, he was. It wasn't as though he stood a chance of ever being at a level worthy of being with Roman, if Roman was even gay, but now it was absolutely off limits.

 

The likes of him didn't have the right to think of Roman like that now.

 

He had no idea what his family looked like, but he imagined his wife was probably gorgeous, and they'd surely created a child just as beautiful.

 

Zoned out, Dean hardly processed Roman's stopping his nostalgic speech and turn back to him.

 

"So you coming with or—"

 

"Sorry. I think I'm gonna hit the hay early for a change. Ya'll get buzzed for me." Dean shot back, scratching the back of his neck a tad too hard and already shifting to leave.

 

Seth gave him a guilty look and Roman thought hard at himself, worried sick he'd said something wrong. Dean saw neither expression due to the hood pulled over his head and the fact he was likely walking faster than intended.

 

That night he remembered the pain in his ankle from a few days prior feeling like nothing in comparison to the massive ache in his head and... heart.

 

Before then he'd believed his heart had long shriveled away. He wished it really had.

 

 


End file.
